Dying to be Mortal
by closetCullen
Summary: I’d be about willing to die for looks like that.' Die for them? I did, Newton. I did." Edward's just dying to be immortal; a series of drabbles in which he bemoans his immortality.


A/N: This will end up as a series of EPOV drabbles about the trials of immortality; this one is an introduction of sorts. I hope you'll forgive our dear Edward, he tends to ramble a bit, and his thought-language is somewhat archaic.

Twilight is the property of Stephanie Meyer, not of myself; Stephanie, in her incredible kindness, merely introduced me to Edward a few months ago. He is a very enjoyable acquaintance, I must admit, as are most of his friends and family, though Bella is really the only other one I've gotten to know well.

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Dying To Be Mortal: Half Alive

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The light through her window is growing grayish-pale again, and the red glowing numbers on her digital alarm clock read 5:53. She has long since ceased her nightly soliloquies, and it is time for me to slip away before she wakes. I must make up my mind to leave her and trust that she will be safe on her own for these two hours. I climb silently out through her window into the misting rain and drop soundlessly to the ground, then vanish into the woods. I'm like a shadow – a very lethal shadow. What would she think, if she knew a vampire watched her every night, from within the not-so-secure walls of her own bedroom? I honestly don't know. The silence of her mind still frustrates me exceedingly. Hearing her midnight monologues is the closest I can come to knowing what she thinks of me, and so far I've learned only that she does.

I know I really ought not to be in her room all night long. I know that it is invasive, and inappropriate, and extremely dangerous for the both of us. At any moment, the temptation could overwhelm me; it would take mere minutes for me to drain her life's blood. Sometimes, it is so _very_ difficult not to, but then the image of her - so still and cold, so deep in the slumber from which she will not awake – terrifies me. And my family, Carlisle in particular, would be so terribly disappointed, though I think Carlisle would forgive me. Rosalie, perhaps, might not

Yet I cannot seem to stay away from this human girl. I tell myself I'm going out for a walk and find myself peering through the trees at her house. I tell myself that, since I'm already there, I may as well stay and stand guard; the poor girl does seem rather accident-prone. I should probably see to it that she does not accidentally set her house on fire in her sleep. And suddenly, I find I've climbed through her window again and am listening with rapt attention, watching anxiously to see her chest rise and fall, refraining from breathing myself to lessen my temptation. Every night I set out, having deceived myself with the purest of intentions, and every morning I slip back out through her window, guilty of spending yet another night just watching her sleep. I rationalize my sins to myself by saying that she really does need protecting; how ironic, when I am the most dangerous thing to ever violate the sanctity of her bedroom. I take some small comfort in the fact that my behavior while there has been completely virtuous… but how long can I maintain it? How long will I be able to resist the craving for her blood, or, failing that, her body? I don't think I am being arrogant when I say that it would be unlikely that she would object should I choose to offer _that_, though I cannot be sure with her as I can with others. And Really, I should run while I still have the chance – while _she_ still has the chance.

But I won't run. I've already tried that solution, and found it wanting. Truly, I don't know what I _will_ do.

I catch sight of the… _thing _she drives to school in place of a vehicle. That rolling abomination can't possibly be safe; perhaps I ought to offer her a ride…

…And hope she would refuse. It is so treacherously easy for me to forget exactly what I am around her. _I_ am an abomination. I am something that should never exist. I am the monster in the closet or under the bed. I am that which makes people look over their shoulders to see if they are being watched when they think they're alone. I and those like me – we are the reason humans are afraid of the dark.

I would give anything, _everything_, to be other than I am. Certainly, there are advantages to my condition – for instance, the speed I'm about to use to get home, retrieve my car, and reach school in time to begin another day of playing at humanity. I've waited here too long, and would unquestionably be late if I could not run faster than human eyes can follow.

The extra strength is an asset as well, since it prevents me from ever tiring. It has also proved beneficial in protecting humans, as with Bella and the van the other day. And I suppose complete invulnerability has its bright side as well, although it would become a dreadful hindrance if one ever grew weary of eternity as a freakish, inhuman creature.

And eternity itself is immeasurably long. Sometimes I wonder if someday, I will have experienced every possible thing in the world, and be sentenced to eternal boredom. Admittedly, that punishment pales in comparison to the crime of being what I am, but it is no very pleasant thought, either. I have often heard people think of Carlisle, 'How lucky he is, to look so young! It's as if he never ages; longevity must run in his family. It must be wonderful.' The foolish mortals have no idea what they're wishing for. The inability to die is more a curse than a blessing. And then, of course, there's the entire issue of afterlife. How much better it would be to die and have an afterlife, as a humans do, than to be forced to live out one's afterlife on the earth as a soulless beast! It's not even really living, living dead. I've heard people described as half-dead; we are fully dead, and yet half alive. But only half.

The inability to sleep is another curse disguised as a blessing. Certainly, I can accomplish much more than I could if I were required to sleep – but what are a few nights when one has eternity in which to accomplish? Many times I have longed to be able to sleep, to simply stop, to slip into happy oblivion, to dream! Even once would be nice, if only to remember what it was like. Carlisle tells me we can temporarily lose consciousness, but I have never experienced it, and he refuses to tell me how it can be induced. Obviously, he knows me too well.

Then, of course, there's the inescapable thirst for blood, which can never be satiated unless we violate our consciences. A strange thought, is it not – vampires with consciences? But we do have them, a fact that I've had to deal with more than any other member of my family, Jasper included. Near-perfect memory can be a terrible thing. And Jasper has a good excuse for what he did; I have no excuse whatsoever . But that is my own doing, and not essential to every immortal existence. As I was saying, the pain of the thirst never really goes away, and it makes it very difficult for us to try to associate with humans as we desire to.

The necessity of secrecy, combined with the unusual properties of our skin, is yet another nuisance. It is extremely trying to be forced to hide from all human contact simply because the sun feels obliged to shine on a given day. I tire of the continuous night and shadows almost as quickly as I tire of the lies we must maintain to remain incognito. We enter human society, but we can never truly be a part of it; if we get too close, people begin asking questions and noticing things. Whenever people see us for the first time, I am inundated with half-sympathetic thoughts of people wondering whether we're all severely anemic or just extremely sleep-deprived.

Speaking of which, my semi-telepathic ability is still another curse. While it has its benefits, they are far outweighed by the unending chatter and noise which clouds my head! I've grown rather expert at tuning it out, but there are times when I desperately need the respite of a really desolate place deep in the forest or high on a mountain, or even in the depths of a lake, where there are no thoughts to hear and I can bask in the delicious, restful silence.

Unfortunately, I am now as far from that sweet desolation as I could possibly be in the town of Forks. The campus of the local high school before the beginning of class is a perfect cacophony of thoughts running rampant. And mind-reading is a bit like eavesdropping: you often hear things you would rather not have heard. The thoughts that blonde freshman over there is having about his female health teacher, for instance, are revolting. I know firsthand the truth of the somewhat popular saying 'guys are perverts.' Although some of the fantasies the girls entertain about me as I pass them in the hall outside the English classroom are only slightly less appalling. Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory are wrong when they assume I turned them down out of pure snobbishness. Aside from the fact that neither one particularly attracts me, I know too well what goes on behind those sweet, not-so-innocent faces and fluttering eyelashes. Admittedly, they don't think of all boys that way, but the first thoughts in their minds when they see me are more than enough to frighten me away. And vampires are _not_ easily frightened.

I overhear plenty of unvocalized insults, as well. In the cafeteria when we all sit down to not eat lunch: _There are the Cullens, all off being weird together again, the freaks._

If you only knew, Eric, what freaks we are.

There's plenty of jealousy, as well: _I can't stand that Rosalie Hale. My boyfriend forgets I exist every time she walks in the room, because he can't take his eyes off her boobs and her butt._

I wish I could blush at the vulgarity. Immortal beauty is not nearly as nice as you would expect. Another case in point: biology class this afternoon. Mike Newton unintentionally broadcasts his thoughts with unusual strength when he sees Bella Swan and myself sitting next to each other.

_Ugh! Cullen again. He could have any girl in the school, probably in the world, and he just has to pick Bella. Why does he have to pick the girl _I _like?_

Why, indeed. It's not easy to feel the way I do about your natural food source.

_ It's just not fair; why does he have to be so dang good-looking? It's 'cause of that nobody even cares that he has the personality of my grandma's toaster. _

I can't help but smile a little at that one. He likens me to a toaster? Comical.

But he isn't finished, and the thought that follows his sigh is far less amusing.

_I'd be about willing to die for looks like that._

Die for them? I did, Newton. I did.

Foolish, lunatic humans, to want what we have!

I close my accursed immortal eyes and wish fervently that I at least might have been spared the gift of tears.


End file.
